


Away

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Series: Week of One Shots [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, canon au? okay, i don't know what universe this is, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-04 13:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18344633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: Sandor Clegane escaped the Vale with the Stark sisters. He outwitted Littlefinger, he braved the mountains, he survived. He brought Sansa and Arya to safety, but he wasn't quite sure at what cost.Sansa Stark fled the Vale, only to find herself mired in an even bigger war than the one she left behind.And Arya Stark was sick of her sister and Sandor Clegane.Sequel to Again.Part four in the week of one shot series!





	Away

**Author's Note:**

> I really like doing the three perspective series! I hope you guys like it as well, and I had a blast with Arya. 
> 
> Please enjoy!!!

Sandor kept sliding the whetstone down the long blade of his great sword. The steady movement was calming to him, providing him focus where he otherwise might have felt unease. The acting was key, at least according to Sansa. Act like everything is alright. Act like it is all normal. 

 

He was beginning to see that she was a good actress. She played the part of Littlefinger’s bastard daughter flawlessly and it was no wonder that the knights and ladies of the Vale saw what they’d hoped to see. A lowborn girl, barely above the servants, tasked with occupying the little sickly Lord Arryn. It was clear they didn’t see her as anything else, much less a highborn lady with a claim to Winterfell. 

 

He had his own part to play. That of a craven guard, a miser who despised everyone but himself. It was certainly what Littlefinger wanted to see. He payed Sandor, rather handsomely, to guard Sweetrobin. It was an impressive show for the Lords of the Vale, that he’d gotten Joffrey’s own to watch over their lord. It would have been, had he not thought Littlefinger was slowly killing the boy. 

 

It worked out for their advantage anyways. He got to spend time with Sansa then, who did her best to act shy and timid with him in front of anyone. But when the doors were closed, the knights and Littlefinger plotting far away, she dropped all her acts and was Sansa in front of him. 

 

And she was planning their escape. 

 

They were leaving the Eyrie in two days time, before the winter snows shut down all entrances to their mountain retreat. The whole court was moving down the mountain, all the knights and servants and every last chicken and goat. It was going to be a chaotic time, but Sansa wasn’t worried. They could get lost in the hustle and bustle. She was just trying to be sure that they didn’t endanger Sweetrobin. 

 

“What are you doing?” Sansa stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. He looked up at her and had to smile. He still remembered the girl she was in Kings Landing, who was terrified of every thing and one. It was nice to see that here she’d lost some of that fear, and had grown into a girl who was strong in her own beliefs. 

 

“He likes the noise,” Sandor explained, nodding to their sleeping charge. Robin always looked smaller and sicker when he slept, pale faced with his thumb in his mouth. 

 

“Alright,” Sansa eased into the room and shut the door behind her. She knelt beside Robin’s bed and gently pressed a hand to his forehead, worry written across her face. She knew as well as Sandor did that the boy wasn’t well, but she felt it more keenly. He had no attachment to the little lord.

 

“He’s been sleeping well for a while now,” he told her, in hopes that it would soothe her slightly. Sansa nodded and bit her lip, a rather unladylike habit she’d picked up as a bastard. He didn’t mind it. 

 

“Good,” she said quietly, “that helps us. If he sleeps as well when we’re moving as he does now, then I won’t need to use sweetsleep.” 

 

“Where did you get that?” he asked her and Sansa held up a vial of it. 

 

“Took some from Maester Colemon,” she said remorselessly, then tucked it back inside the folds of her dress. She stroked Robin’s hair once, then rose and shook out her skirts. “You’re ready then?” 

 

“Yes,” he watched as she straightened up the room and placed some of Robin’s dolls in a wicker basket. “Are you?” 

 

“As well as I can be,” she said firmly, taking more of the dolls and putting them in the basket. Most of Robin’s room was well packed away, but he threw fits when the dolls were taken. 

 

“It will be alright,” he promised, though he had no idea if it would be. It seemed to be the right thing to say and Sansa relaxed some, allowing him a small smile. 

 

“Yes. Soon we’ll be gone,” she looked at Robin, “and he’ll be alone. My cousin and I’m leaving him to die.” 

 

“He never would’ve made a good Lord,” Sandor said carefully. “He’s mad, and ill.” 

 

“And how much did Petyr do to him?” Sansa said ruefully. 

 

“His mother was mad long before,” Sandor warned her and Sansa’s mouth twitched. 

 

“I suppose she was. They speak of the Targaryen madness. I wonder if a streak of it runs through the Tully’s as well.” 

 

“If it did, it missed you,” he said quietly and couldn’t resist adding, “but your sister, I’m not sure.” 

 

“Arya,” Sansa sighed but she was smiling. “It will good to get her away. She’s becoming even more to handle.” 

 

They had decided it was best to hide Arya amongst the kitchen girls, where Littlefinger could keep an eye on her and no one would know both Stark girls were in the Eyrie. It had made Arya mutinousness, but Sansa had promised her that if she endured, she would get them away from Littlefinger. Arya obeyed with ill grace. 

 

“She knows what to do?” he questioned. 

 

“Backwards and forwards,” promised Sansa. “All that’s left to do is wait to leave.” 

 

The waiting was the hardest part. He was forced to step aside and sit quietly while Sansa put everything into motion. Arya had to get sick, violently ill, so that when it came time to begin the trek down the mountain, she would be wrapped in blankets and loaded into the back of the grain wagon, left out of sight and kept out from underfoot. Sansa wrapped Robin up in his thick blue cloak, fastening it with the winged clasp before lifting him up onto Sandor’s mount. Then she got onto her own and it began. 

 

Sandor rode with Robin in front of him, keeping the boy safely on the horse. Robin was sleeping fitfully and he saw, several times, Sansa’s hand dip into her dress where she kept the sweetsleep. It was slow going, with Robin on his horse, and Petyr nervously rode back several times. 

 

“Father,” Sansa said finally, after the third time of this, “why don’t you go ahead and lead the lords? I know you are eager to get to the gates, and have so much to do. We will ride with Robin and get him there safely. But more slowly, as to not worsen his condition.” 

 

“Yes,” he stroked his goatee and then nodded. “Yes, I will lead the lords down. You watch over over our Sweetrobin my daughter and see that he arrives to me safe and sound.” 

 

“Of course,” Sansa gave him a smile that seemed to only be sincere. 

 

From there, the rest of their plan unspooled so well that Sandor almost thought the whole household had to be in on it. They hung back until the whole train called for a halt, to water the horses and have a bite to eat. Sansa and Sandor exchanged Robin for Arya, dressing her up in his blue cloak and swaddling Robin in the grain wagon, carefully concealing his face. Sandor swung back up onto his horse, a quietly cursing Arya in front of him, and saw the pain in Sansa’s eyes as she looked down on Robin. 

 

“He will be fine,” he told her lowly, lying through his teeth. 

 

“He won’t,” Sansa didn’t look away from Robin’s face, “he’s going to be killed by Petyr as some power play, just another chess piece used and discarded.” 

 

“We can’t save him,” Arya reminded her sister, muffled through the hood of the cloak meant to hide her identity. 

 

“He’s a Tully, same as we are,” Sansa said quietly, “and family comes before duty and honor. He’s family, whether we like it or not. He’s one of us.” 

 

“Listen to me,” Sandor caught her upper arm and Sansa looked up at him, anguish on her pretty face. “I order you to leave him behind. My orders. Whatever happens to him next, it’s my own fault.” 

 

“Alright,” she said quietly, getting on her horse. She gave one last look to the motionless body amongst the bags of grain then turned her back on it, spurring her horse further. 

 

“He would’ve left her behind in a heartbeat,” Arya muttered, from where Sansa couldn’t hear her. Sandor snorted. 

 

“Tender heart, your sister.” 

 

“And it’s going to get her killed,” Arya said grimly. Sandor flicked his reins, hoping the jolting of the horse hid the way he’d gone stiff. 

 

“They’ll have to get through me.” 

 

When their party started back up again, Sansa made a big fuss over Arya-as-Robin, making them fall further and further behind. She made sure everyone saw the Arryn blue cloak but never the face; Arya resented being compared to Sweetrobin, but it was all they had. Sansa kept it up until they reached a massive crevice in the mountain face; the rest of the part was so busy trying to round the bend with wagons that none noticed that they’d slipped through. 

 

“How the hell did you find this?” demanded Sandor, as their surefooted mounts began picking their way down a trail. 

 

“Mya told me,” Sansa explained, closing her eyes briefly when they neared an edge. “She knows the mountain better than anyone. By the time they reach the Gates of the Moon, we’ll be too far beyond for them to turn around and chase us. It’s us and the mountain now.” Sansa turned her face into the wind and let it blow her hair back. Sandor watched her, an uncomfortable pain in his heart. 

 

They had the entire mountain to cross to get to the Bite, then from there up to Greywater Watch. Sansa thought it was best to stay with the Reed’s, who never wavered in their loyalty to the Starks, and who’s holdings were impossible to find. She thought that was where they’d be safest. But as Sandor looked out over the rocks and the cliffs, his hurt sunk. He had to keep her safe through this, and he wasn’t quite sure he knew how. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Arya was sick of the the mountains. She was sick of sleeping on hard rocks every night, she was sick of the endless grey skies above them, she was sick of the howling wind that came right the passes and cut her to the bone. She was sick of eating the dry rice cakes Sansa had packed away from them. She was even sick of shooting down birds with the slingshot Sandor had fastened for her. She was sick of the Vale.

They’d skirted to the edge of the mountains, as close as they dared. They didn’t have to fear too many hill tribes this way, and the going was a bit easier than before. But they couldn’t just take the kingsroad like Arya had the last time they’d came this way. it was too dangerous, and they all knew that Littlefinger would stop at nothing to get them back. So they stuck to the mountains. 

But most of all, Arya was sick of her sister and Sandor. She had thought perhaps it would be better, having Sansa with them. That Sandor would stop being so angry at her, at the world. She was curious how exactly Sansa was going to do, given that she’d spent her entire life being pampered and pleased. She was glad to have her sister back, when all their brothers were dead now. 

But she had not expected Sandor and Sansa to be so annoying. Sandor was downright tolerant. He was pleasant, on some occasions. He protected them, sheltered them, fed them, generally kept them moving. He never complained, he never protested, and he was always considerate, at least to Sansa. It was unlike anything Arya had seen from him before. 

Mostly, she hated that she was somewhat ignored now. Sandor was so intent on making sure that they stayed alive, he hardly paid her any mind. Once, she even misjudged a shot with her sling and sent a rock past his head. Before, that would have wound up with him dangling her over the edge of a cliff until she learned to be more careful. But this time, he just gave her a look and let Sansa scold her. It was baffling. 

And on her sister’s part, Sansa was busy keeping them all together, trying to be strong and cheerful. She treated Sandor like he was a fellow highborn, but never called him ser or lord. Mostly she called him Sandor, which he seemed to like better than Hound or Clegane. Arya didn’t understand why her sister was so sweet to him, except that she’d obviously been struck in the head with a falling rock one too many times. 

“Do you think we’re far enough?” Sansa fretted. They were looking down at a small cluster of huts; calling it a village would be an insult to villages, but it looked like it may have food. 

“It’ll have to be,” Sandor said tiredly, “we need food, and new mounts.” 

They all looked down at the horses they had under them, who were beginning to look gaunt. They themselves did not have the fullest of faces anymore; Sansa’s normally luminous skin was even starting to chap in the wind. Arya hacked her hair short again with Sandor’s dagger one night to stop it from tangling, which just made Sansa roll her eyes and braid her own hair tightly back. 

“Down we go then,” Sansa declared and they descended. 

The villagers greeted them with some wariness, some curiosity, and some suspicion. Nonetheless, they pointed them in the direction of an old widow who could feed and shelter them if they could pay. They could, and so they found themselves in a small hut, eating a thin gruel and warming their toes by a large fire. Arya was looking at the mat by the fire with unbridled joy. 

The widow spoke mostly to Sandor and Sansa, who told the story about them being a young couple fleeing the fighting with a brother in tow; Arya was fine with being called a boy after all her time with the Night’s Watch and the Brotherhood. It was easier being a boy. She ate her gruel and made for her bed, laying her head down on something other than a rock for the first time in weeks. She was asleep and dreaming before Sansa and Sandor had finished eating. 

When she awoke, the fire was low but not dead, and at the table sat the widow and Sansa, talking lowly. Arya pretended to roll over in her sleep, trying to hear better. Sansa stopped talking and Arya laid as still as she could, trying to even out her breathing and still appear soundly asleep. Sansa hesitated but then the widow said, 

“Go on child, he’s fast asleep anyways. You seem to have come so far.” 

“It’s been a long journey,” Sansa admitted slowly, “and we’ve still got so far to go.” 

“Well, don’t you worry about that,” the widow reassured her, “you’re on the right path.” 

“I like to think I am,” Sansa sounded sad, sadder than Arya had ever heard her. “But I don’t know anymore what’s right and wrong. I’ve been running for so long, I think I’ve forgotten how to tell the difference.” 

“War takes and takes and takes,” the widow said wisely, “it took my sons from me. You’ve lost your family, but the one you have with you now will get you through.” 

“I’m scared to lose them again,” Sansa’s voice cracked and Arya opened one eye just each to see through her eyelashes. It almost seemed as though Sansa was swiping at the tears on her cheeks and the widow patted her hand. 

“There, there. All will be well. You’ll get to where you’re safe again. Your husband will make sure of that.” 

“I just hope I can keep him safe,” Sansa said quietly and the widow was silent for a moment. 

“Arranged marriage then?” she asked gently. 

“Something of the sort,” Sansa said wryly and Arya wrinkled her nose. She’d never even want to pretend to be married to him, not with how awful he was. But Sansa was being very convincing. “I think it was a sense of obligation for him, to keep me safe, to take me away, but I don’t know his heart. I don’t know if he loves me.” 

“Loves you?” Arya mouthed to herself. Sansa was talking like this was one of her romantic stories, in which the knight swept the maiden away and true love prevailed. 

“He does. I can see it in the way he looks at you,” promised the widow. “He may think it was duty, but it will be for love soon enough. You are young. You are beautiful. No man would be able to resist that.” 

“But how can I know that for true?” demanded Sansa and Arya clamped her mouth shut to keep from yelling. 

“Give him time. Give him space,” offered the widow, “and let him see the truth of his own feelings. Men are frightfully thick, my dear girl. He’ll see it in the end, I know he will.” 

“Thank you for listening to me,” said Sansa gratefully. 

“No worries my dear. It makes me miss my children. Now go on, off to bed with you. He’ll be missing you, I assure you of that.”

Arya watched in disbelief as Sansa - her sister, Sansa - got up and bent down to give the stooped old woman a brief hug. Then she padded across the floor to the pallet where Sandor was snoring and slid in under the blankets like she really was some lowborn woman, off to sleep with her husband. Arya watched as the widow went to bed and still Sansa didn’t rise and move away. Even when Arya rolled over, making as much noise as she could, Sansa stayed beside Sandor. 

Arya laid on her back, looking up at the uneven thatching in the ceiling. Sansa talked about being married to Sandor like it was alright. Like it was normal. Something she wanted. Arya tried to comprehend what it would be like to want to be married to Sandor and came up short. No matter which way she looked at it, it seemed awful. But not to Sansa. 

She knew Sandor liked her sister. That had been obvious since he’d taken her. But she was unprepared to deal with the idea of Sansa liking Sandor back. That was too difficult to comprehend. Sandor saw her as some highborn lady to protect and she saw him as some knight of a song. That had to be it. 

Still discomforted with what she’d seen and heard, Arya brought her blankets up to her cheek. She was going to do everything she could to put Sandor and Sansa out of her mind. 

The next morning they were able to trade out their mounts for new horses and set off on their way again. Arya took a moment to stop looking at the grey skies and the grey mountain rocks to watch her sister and Sandor, critically looking for anything that indicated their feelings towards each other. It didn’t take long for Sansa to start telling Sandor a story, or for him to smile as he listened. 

On and on they went with Sansa blathering and Sandor only listened with a smile. Occasionally when one story ended and Sansa asked if he wanted another he would nod, but otherwise he rode in silence. Arya didn’t think anything of that. Sansa loved to tell stories and Sandor never spoke in more than a grunt. Satisfied that all was normal, she went back to aiming at any bird who got within her range. 

They stopped to eat around midday, grouping their horses close. Sansa had accepted some bread and cheese from the widow to supplement their meager shares, and Arya took hers eagerly, ravenous with hunger. She just looked up in time to see Sandor offered Sansa a hunk of his own cheese, and a smiling Sansa accept it from Sandor’s own fingertips, like a bride would her groom. Arya almost dropped her own bread in shock. 

“Well bloody hell.” 

* * *

  

Sansa sat in the bedroom of Greywater Watch and tried to remember how to breathe again. Her hands were rubbed ragged from gripping the reins so tightly during their final flight into the marsh. What seemed like all the knights of the Vale behind them and nothing but swamp in front of them. She’d been so terrified, but then out of nowhere came the crannogmen in their small boats and stole them away. She wondered if the knights chasing them had drowned in their armor like the legends said happened here. 

Howland Reed had come for them. He’d rescued them and brought them to his castle. Sansa was using the term castle generously, since Greywater Watch was unlike anything she’d ever seen. But it was well hidden and well defended, and Reed had promised they would be safe. Sansa had washed their escape away with her dark hair and now she stood, clean and redheaded once more. 

“Sansa?” Jyana Reed, lady of the castle and Howland’s wife, peeked her head around the corner of the door. She was a short woman, hardly taller than Arya, with grey streaked hair and kind eyes. Sansa had felt safer with her from the moment she’d set foot in Greywater Watch. 

“Hello,” Sansa greeted her with a smile. Jyana moved inside the room and sat down beside Sansa on the bed. She’d already had the rooms ready before they’d gotten there, but how she expected their arrival she wouldn’t say. 

“Are you settling in alright?” Jyana asked, with true concern and it made tears prick in Sansa’s eyes. How long had it been since a mother had asked her that, with no thought of trying to gain anything from her. 

“Yes,” she replied, only a bit choked up. 

“Good,” Jyana took her hands and held them tight. “Come, Howland and I need to speak to you.” 

“Of course,” Sansa got up and followed her, wondering how bad it could be. 

Sandor found her after, sitting in one of the towers that overlooked the bog. She had hoped that the view was going to make her feel a little more free, but all she could see was swamp in every direction. It was soothing nonetheless; no one could touch her here. No one could reach her; she had the bog and Sandor to protect her. She looked up as he came to stand beside her. 

“Are you alright?” he asked her lowly and she gave him what she hoped was a wobbly smile. 

“To be honest, no. I’ve heard things today, things that….” she trailed off and took a deep breath to gather her thoughts. “Everything has changed Sandor. The brothers I thought were dead are alive and well. The brother I thought a bastard is not Snow but the heir to the Iron Throne, and my enemies that I thought were behind us instead surround us on all sides.” 

“Howland Reed told you this?” he looked skeptical but Sansa didn’t have the time or energy to explain. As it was, she didn’t quite understand it all. “So what is it you are going to do?” 

“i don’t know,” she said honestly. She thought she’d escaped the game of thrones when she fled the Vale, but now she had a choice before her. If things really were as Reed said it was, there was a whole different war coming. A chance to see her brothers again, a chance to get Winterfell back and put Rickon there as the lord like he deserved. The chance for revenge, on everyone. 

“Where will you go?” Sandor asked softly and Sansa turned to him then, reaching up and taking his cheek in her hand. She’d done this once before, the night of the battle. She’d made the mistake of leaving him then. She wasn’t going to make that mistake ever again. 

“I plan to stay here, for awhile,” she told him honestly. Reed had told her there was still so much she didn’t understand. And Jyana promised to tell her of Bran and Meera and Jojen. She was somewhere safe and she didn’t want to give that up, not yet. Not for the moment. 

“And then?” Sandor pressed. She smiled and reached down to intertwine their hands. She had one chance, for moment to make her feelings know. So she told him the truth. 

“And then I’m going to do everything I can to take down the Lannister’s. To hurt the people that hurt my family. I’m going to get my brother back from the cannibals and make him the Lord of the North. And if all else fails, I’m going to go home and rebuild it, brick by brick if I must.” 

“You’re going to need someone to protect you,” he said carefully and Sansa gave his hand a squeeze. 

“I’m going to need you,” she corrected. “You’re the only person who cared about me when I had nothing. You’re the only person I can trust. You are the only one who will keep me and my family safe without asking me of anything in return,” she said earnestly and Sandor was shaking his head. 

“Don’t…. Don’t make me seem like some honorable man, little bird,” he muttered, uncomfortable. “I’m still the dog you met in Kings Landing.” 

“Perhaps,” she took his chin in his hand and forced him to look down at her. “But you’re the man who took my sister from the Brotherhood and me from the Eyrie. You are good and I need you.” 

“I will be your shield,” he covered her hands with his own, “and protect you for all of your days.” 

“Alright,” Sansa let out a breath she didn’t quite realize she was holding. It was enough, for now. It kept him with her, it gave her a chance to let him get more comfortable. They would reach the stage beyond this. She had a will of iron that she would draw upon when needed. And she had a goal now, a focus. She would see this through and at the end, she would have Sandor. 

“So now what?” Sandor asked her and she stared out over the marsh. Beyond it was Winterfell, home. There was Bran beyond the Wall, and Jon there as well. Rickon off in Skagos. There was so much to done and enemies at every corner. She intertwined her arm with his. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are love. Sharing is love. Kudos are love. Encouragement during this week is everything. Bless bless bless!!


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